Turner County herald. (Hurley, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-19??, 1887-09-08
THE BRAND OF CAIN.
by H. S. KELLER.

Here in the soft soil are the prints of
her shoes. She was leaning against the
bars, picking to pieces the daisies, and,
doubtless drawing fanciful pictures in
the western sky, when the william stole
up behind her and stabbed her to the
death.
What was the motive?
Who was the assassin?
Those two were vague questions as
yet, and time alone can only answer
each satisfactorily.
The threads were few and scattering.
1t requires more than the usual amount
of human patience to gather up the
broken strands of the mystery and solve
the same.
There is larger amount of animal
instinct in the nature of the detective
than people at large generally believe.
Some thief-takers k1aoao thief, no mat
ter in what guise he is presented. Men
who have reached out the strong arm
and grappled with the crime-stained,
say they feel peculiar sensation pass
through every nerve when their hands
come in contact with the person of q
criminal. Others-and I have met
them in my time-say that they
can detect murderer through
the sense of smell. Their arguments
ere so strongly in favor of the facts,
and many of them have proven to bo
true, backed up as they are by unde-
niuble proof-that have no right to
disbelieve their assertions.
Hundreds have gazed upon the face
of the dead girl. No one has, as yet,
fully recognized her. Some claim to
have done SO; but when the claims are
presented they fail to substantiate any,
thing further than visionary doubts,
fancies, or crude outcomings.
After she was buried visited the
spot OF the foul murder. I did it, I
will frankly say, out of that strange,
morbid curiosity which seems to hold
full sway over the strongest minds
when things out of common are pre-
sented to publicity.
The keen (p) amateur detective had
secured the woodland for miles around,
looking for the knife which had cleft
the girls heart in twain. Bits of mud
had been carefully dug up and carried
away, and splinters had been whitfield
off the upper bar OF the fence. The
amateur detective is sleuth-hound and
nuisance. Many dark deed has
been rendered more dark through the
cat-like tread and alleged keenness of
the amateur. Many first-class pro-
fessionnl has been turned aside from
the right trail and thrown off the scent
by the fool amateur VINO looks for
glory in the blood of victim and the
footprints of tho assassin.
But l found under burdock leaf
whnt had escaped both the professional
and amateur detective. I will say right
here am no detective. If were not
apleasure seeker with plenty of means
to appease my rowing propensities, 1
might be detective, but doubt it.
Detectives are born, not made. 1t re-
quires something beyond the scope of
common man to become detective. I
am not beyond the common scope
humbly, admit, am dull, yet had
found clue.
Though five years have passed I am
no nearer solving the mystery sur
rounding the dead girl than I was the
day found the quaint, old-fashioned
brooch under burdock leaf.
l carry the brooch in small flat, case,
,and I view it perhaps hundred times
each day. I consult with it. In the
car take it cut and look at it. In the
hotel, on the steamer, at the watering
resort, in the depths of the wilderness,
l examine the brooch.
Arld I dl,Cays erami,ae closely Mt
faces about me lUhen L take the brooch
I'M my hand
Originally tho brooch was nothing
more than Dutch brass-plate affair
in setting of common metal 1t, per
haps, did not cost more than quarter
but to mo it was more precious thar
gold. for, through it I had
made up my mind to unmasl
the cowardly murderer of the unknown
girl and bring him to the bar of justice
10 ans ver before God and man for the
foul Gee of blood
Upon the brass plate of the brooch
was silhouette OF mans face.
Was it painted thereon b. the hand
of the artist?
No.
Then how came it there?
l knew.
And now, I think, have found m,
man.
lha. is % hrcal assertion, but ] make
it. fully convinced oe the fact that an